


Far Cry 5 - Soulmates AU

by vampgirl999



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Humor, Light Angst, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 18:50:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21414961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampgirl999/pseuds/vampgirl999
Summary: A collection of soulmate fics starring the Deputy and random characters from Far Cry 5
Relationships: Deputy | Judge/Faith Seed, Deputy | Judge/Jacob Seed, Deputy | Judge/John Seed, Deputy | Judge/Kim Rye/Nick Rye
Kudos: 31





	1. Faith - Cult

**Author's Note:**

> I have the Seed Siblings broken up into two versions - one where the Cult exists, and one without. You can expect this for each one of them.

Rook used to spend hours wondering about their soulmate. They’d eagerly grasp at their shirt where their mark rested - just underneath their left collarbone - hopefully awaiting for each infatuation to be the one that would send it alight.    
  
But as the years passed - and they watched others find their Fated, the apologetic glances of partners as they abandoned them for another’s glow (if they even looked back at all, struck as some were) - Rook began to care less and less, instead focusing on other aspects of their life: on friends and working hard, earning themselves a place as a Junior Sheriff’s Deputy. Truthfully, there were still nights that they went home alone and felt the weighted silence of solitude, or had calls where their mark feeling warmer than usual had nearly sent them into cardiac arrest.    
  
That would be one hell of a meeting: “Nice to meet you, now drop the weapon and/or drugs and put your hands behind your head!”.    
  
\-----   
  
The day they came to arrest the Father, there’s a ticklish curl in their stomach and a ringing in their ears, growing louder as they approach the Church. They dismiss it as a result of nerves and noise - between the helicopter, shouts of the Project members, and that creepy singing, it’s no wonder their senses are pulling a rebellion on them.    
  
It isn’t until they stand before Joseph, watching as he gestures and loudly preaches his manic gospel, that Rook notices movement behind the man and his crowded “Flock”. First one man, then another - and finally a young woman, whose bright green eyes lock with Rook’s. With her tattered white dress, and the near glide to how she walks, she seems so… ethereal. She smiles, and Rook feels themself reflexively flush in response.    
  
It’s only when a ring of gasps surround them that they realize the heat has spread, centering on their warmly glowing mark. And across from them, stepping free from the men beside her, a glow emits from the young woman as well, right where Rook’s own mark glows: a perfect match.    
  
Joseph’s cries ring out, a delighted declaration of Chosen Family found, a lost lamb brought back to them. Two glorious events have unfolded before them today - God has seen fit to offer a blessing with his harsh beginning, a placation/reminder of His love. Rook hardly registers any of it; their focus is on the young woman, their soulmate, and they find themself stepping closer, releasing their grip on the cuffs in favor of reaching forward, the members of the cult parting before the two. They know if they just brush skin, if their hands touch, the Bond will seal, and the ringing will stop. They will finally feel complete, as they had always hoped to.   
  
But before they can, there is suddenly a metallic click as the Marshall restrains Joseph - when had he snagged their cuffs? - and there’s a firm hand on their bicep, dragging them away from  her , from their destiny.    
  
“Let’s go, Rook.” The Sheriff’s voice is strained, seemingly conflicted even as he yanked them forward.    
  
“But sir-”    
  
“Move!”    
  
The order has them complying without immediately realizing, even if they keep trying to look back, struggling to catch sight of the young woman again. 


	2. Jacob - No Cult

They met on the battlefield, of all places. 

Chaos reigned in the form of explosions and gunfire, smoke and clouds of impacted sand choking the air all around them. Screams of the fallen and hurried commands covered by the “ratatatat” of rifles deafened every soldier, leaving them with only their instincts and their training to guide them. The area had become their own personal hell. 

Jacob couldn’t remember what it was that had taken him out. A stray grenade, maybe, or the force of someone in his squad knocking him to the ground before he could be taken out. All he could remember was the ringing in his ears, the blur of his vision, and the racing pain in his left leg. Someone appeared above him, saying something he couldn’t respond to, and then he was being dragged off. His hearing had just started to clear as another leaned over him - Eriks, he believed was their name, one of their medics - and someone was talking, saying something about him. He strained to look, ignoring the hands on his body pushing him back down. He could just make out the name on the other soldier’s tags: Rook. 

He collapsed again before he could speak, and Rook looked down, eyes kind. Their hand grasped his shoulder, fingers grazing skin, and his eyes widened as he felt the spark, nearly missing the words they spoke.

“You’ll be okay man. Stay strong!” Then they were standing, and they were running back into the fray. No! He strained to get back up, to fight against Eriks as they fought to keep him down, telling him it was okay, he was going to be fine, he just needed to calm down - they didn’t understand. 

His soulmate had just ran off into battle, and he didn’t even have the strength to see anything. He’d lost them before he could tell them. 

\---

Years would pass, and Jacob would still find himself thinking of that missed opportunity, now and again. It was a bit easier, now: He had finished his Tour of Duty, been honorably discharged, and now ran a local Veteran’s Center, as well as a rehab commune with his brothers. Life honestly wasn’t too bad. 

And yet… sometimes he would see the name on his forearm, the way the letters stood out boldly against his pale skin. He would try to remember their face from the brief glance that he got, or their voice, but could only ever seem to remember their smile, the full kindness in the eyes of a stranger. He hadn’t been able to find anything about them - the military was unfortunately pretty shit when it came to Soulmates being found while on active duty, too many cases of meeting and losing in too short of a time, leaving battle-ready soldiers drunk on their grief. So they tended to draw things out, or find reasons not to look. It made Jacob sick, angry, and he found himself offering such things in the Veteran’s Center as well, taking down names and descriptions of those who came in and mentioned finding their Soulmates. Just incase. It wasn’t much, but it was more than most had. 

One day the front entrance bell chimed, and Judge lifted his head from where his bed sat in Jacob’s office, heavy white tail smacking against the floor. Jacob stood up from his desk and walked out, the wolf-dog obediently padding behind him. A single person stood in the lobby, dressed in an old Marines t-shirt and a pair of jeans, seemingly curious as they looked around, though Jacob could spot the tense way they held their shoulders, the tightness to their posture - like they were ready to snap into formation any second. As they spotted Jacob, however, they relaxed a bit, and their smile clicked with him right before the words did. 

“Hey, I was told that you guys keep records of Soulmates found out in the field? I tried reaching out to the usual directories, but those guys are a nightmare, you know? No help at all.” An awkward laugh showed off their nerves as they rubbed the back of their head. Their eyes quickly dropped again, however, as Judge suddenly walked over, sniffing curiously at the newcomer. They instantly grinned, and dropped to their knees, obligingly allowing the dog a sniff before scratching at him with both hands, rubbing at his thick fur. 

“Well look at you, handsome fella! You a fellow jarhead, buddy? You come looking for your soulmate?” They laughed as he licked their chin, and Jacob felt something in his chest jump a moment. 

“Does he have a name?” This was directed towards Jacob, and he cleared his throat, refocusing. 

“His name is Judge. I’m Jacob Seed.” He could see the recognition on their face as they straightened up, surprise making way for the same warmth he remembered, all those years ago. They held out a hand, and he shook it, though they kept grasping for far longer than was necessary. 

“Glad to finally meet you, Jacob Seed.” It had been far too long.


	3. John - No Cult

John had dealt with a very rough childhood, and one of the things that had been beaten into him by the Duncans was that “no one would be soulmates with a sinner like him”. They dismissed the name branded into his flesh, calling it a fluke, saying he would be refused, or never meet them. At times, he believed this - he was arrogant, dramatic, and even though he did well as a lawyer, there was still the question of whether that would be enough.    
  
He spoiled his partners, and gave as much of himself as he possibly could. They never had to want for anything - he provided everything they could ever ask for, from lavish trips to fanciful dates, extravagant clothes and all manner of material goods. If it so much as caught their eye for a moment, John would buy it for them, and they never had to do anything in return. Just be there. 

Just love him.    
  
But it was never enough - they never stayed. 

Until he met  _ Them _ . The one bearing his name.

The night had, admittedly, not begun as well as he could have hoped for meeting one’s soulmate. The losing side to one of John’s successful cases had been particularly volatile, and had tracked him down in a bar that evening, bent on revenge. Luckily for him, this was the same place that the Sheriff and his Deputies were a regular at. One punch to the face had left a bruise blooming along his cheekbone, throbbing painfully, but John was more focused on the individual crouched before him, examining him with careful fingers and gentle eyes.    
  
The man in question had not had a chance to make a second swing - not before he’d been all but knocked to the bar, arm wrenched behind his back in restraint by the same Deputy who was now checking on John, who had only been able to watch from his place on the floor, startled and turned on all at once. 

“You sure you don’t want to see a doctor? Fella packed quite a wallop.” They commented. John suppressed a wince, trying to remain as charming as possible in front of his attractive savior.    
  
“I’m sure - it’s nothing a bit of ice won’t fix. I appreciate it, Deputy…” He looked for a nametag, and abruptly found his voice failing him. 

“Rook. It’s no trouble.” The Deputy smiled, but John’s head was spinning too much to notice.  _ Rook.  _ That was half the name on his chest, the name of his soulmate!   
  
“Uh, wait!” He reached out, halting them as they stood to walk away. Rook paused, confused and a bit concerned. It was adorable, and John’s heart ached.    
  
“I’d like to thank you for your help. Please,” He added, when Rook opened their mouth, looking as if they were about to protest. “I insist. Perhaps I could take you to lunch? My treat.” 

Rook looked him over, and John held his breath, terrified of their response. Then they relaxed, and smiled. 

“I’m off tomorrow at one. Would that work?” John’s eyes widened, and he rushed to his feet, excitement throwing the words from his mouth before he could compose himself.

“Yes! Yes, that’s perfect - I’ll pick you up at the station, then?” He flushed at their laugh.

“It’s a date.” They winked, and John was certain he was going to die on the spot. 

Lunch was, of course, fantastic - Rook was charming, funny, and all too happy to confirm what John already knew: they were soulmates.

And as Rook would continue to tell him for years to come, they liked him just the way he was... without all the extravagance.


	4. Eli Palmer

They couldn’t feel most of their body. Being strapped down in a chair for so long had left them basically without sensation. The floor pressing against the side of their face was sticky with blood and dried filth, the sheer stench strong enough to burn their too-dry throat with every struggled inhale, and set their swollen eyes watering immediately. 

Rook wished they could throw up. That they had anything in their system that could even be used to form anything beyond a dry heave. But that also meant laying in a pool of their own vomit. Honestly? It would probably be an improvement - something to hide the stench of gore and death before their body finally gave up on them. 

The sound of boots knocking against the wood flooring did little to stir them. Jacob and his men were constantly coming in and out of the room every few days, either to continue the trials, offer meager medical care to the ones they deemed “strong enough”, and drag out the bodies for tossing. Probably fed them to the Judges - or the prisoners. 

Ugh. Maybe they would be able to muster some puke after all. Drown in it and finally be free of this hell.

The voices grew louder, hazy spots of color coming into view as the figures entered the room. 

“Check the bodies!” A voice ordered. Huh, they didn’t recognize this one… The words became briefly garbled as they tried to shift, to move, only resulting in making their world sway a bit more. Maybe it was better to just let them think they were dead. 

A smaller figure crouched beside their chair, starting to drag it up. As they did, the sudden flow of blood in their limbs made some remain of muscle clench, and despite themselves, Rook groaned in pain. 

“Holy shit!” The world turned black briefly, as their head collided hard with the floor again, and Rook felt like their eyes would have watered if they had the fluids to do so. They tasted blood pooling on their tongue. 

“We got a live one!” Someone called. Rook could hear the hasty apologies as another man came over, hoisting them up with far more care than the other one had. 

“Holy shit, is that-” The one from before - a young man, they realized, couldn’t be older than twenty two - was cut off by the man that now reached for their bound arms. 

“Yeah.” Dark grayed out hair and a thick beard covered most of his face, but the eyes that locked with their own were kind, warm as a spark laced between the two, a soft glow coming off their respective wrists. “And more.” 

Their soulmate. Great, this was one hell of a way to make a first impression. Whatever the younger man or the others were saying was lost on Rook, who found their bindings cut and then strong hands gathering them up, helping them lean against a firm, steadier body. 

“Easy, I’ve got ya.” He murmured in their ear. “Name’s Eli.” 

“Rook…” They managed to rasp. He chuckled, though not unkindly, and Rook sharply inhaled as well-toned arms suddenly pulled them up, holding them securely. They wanted to squirm away - they were disgusting, covered in blood and god knows what, hadn’t showered in weeks - but Eli’s grip was firm.

“Sorry, but I don’t think you’re in any condition to walk, right now.” Eli waited until they met his eyes, then continued. “Don’t worry, you’re safe with us.” 

Decidedly beaten, Rook let their head drop against the other’s shoulder, taking comfort in the instinctive pull of their soulmate’s presence. 

“Tammy’s not going to like this.” 

“I’ll handle Tammy.” 

Rook wondered who Tammy was. His girlfriend, maybe? Shit, they knew what it was like to lose a relationship to soulmates. 

But… they nestled a bit closer to Eli, as much as they could. They may be thoroughly wrecked, but they were ready to fight for this, after everything else.


End file.
